


No Accounting for Taste

by RoseCathy



Series: Don’t Let Me Go [2]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Anger Management, Angst, Cooking, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseCathy/pseuds/RoseCathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series X era. New-relationship angst and fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Accounting for Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Set some amount of time before [Pain.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1212517) I’m basically writing a series backwards because I’m incapable of structuring plots.

On the painstakingly colour-coded calendar in his mind, Rimmer checked off Day 25.

25 days since Lister had found him and Starbug on the planetoid they jokingly dubbed Rimmerworld 2.0. 25 days since Rimmer had blurted out the truth and Lister had reached out to him, not quite as eagerly as in his fantasies, but still with some semblance of feeling. Rimmer wouldn’t have thought that would be enough; however, it had taken him no time at all to decide that he would take what he could get.

They were now about three days from Red Dwarf, and Rimmer was dreading the end of their little space holiday.

It hadn’t all been fun and games and sex. They couldn’t help bickering as they’d always done, although Rimmer tried — truly, he tried — to hold back, afraid that Lister would change his mind. As easygoing as Lister was, their…whatever it was (Involvement? Liaison? Affair?) was still new, fragile; Rimmer had pined too long for this to lose it to what he believed to be his innate smegheadedness.

Today, though, he felt all right. He had found something in the kitchen to distract him from his worries: A box of cake mix and a can of vanilla icing. He usually baked from scratch, but for the time being, he didn’t mind. He had a vague idea that people who were…involved…were supposed to do nice things for each other, and there wasn’t much scope for romance aboard Starbug. Lister would surely appreciate the gesture. Surely. Maybe. Hopefully.

As he was putting on the last of the icing, Lister lumbered in, quite deliberately trapping Rimmer in the cramped galley. Feeling bold, Rimmer retaliated by pulling on his shirt until their lips were crushed together.

“Heh,” Lister chuckled when he came up for breath. “Good morning.”

“It’s half two.”

Lister dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “Seen the curry powder?”

”Just there - ” Rimmer turned to point it out, and Lister darted under his outstretched arm to grab it. Rimmer wrinkled his nose. “I suppose your cornflakes need that extra punch.”

“Yep,” Lister agreed cheerfully as he eyed the cake. “Looks good, man. I think you missed a spot though.” With that, he plunged a finger into the icing, then into his mouth before Rimmer could stop him.

“Lister, you - ” Rimmer barely had time to process the initial damage to his work of art (Then again, he had made it for Lister anyway, hadn’t he?) before his admonishment turned into a gasp of horror. The jar of curry powder hadn’t been sealed properly.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Lister cried, but Rimmer barely paid attention; he was too busy trying to suppress the anger that was welling up in him, much more powerful than seemed warranted by the accident. _It was an accident…but I spent so much time on it, and for what? For him. Careless smegging goit! But it **was** an accident, and he’s genuinely sorry, I can tell - _ “Rimmer?”

Rimmer shook his head to clear his face of the emotions that had doubtless flashed across it. He would _not_ be a short-tempered git and scare Lister off. He _would not_ …“I put a lot of effort into this, you know,” he spat out, trying to keep the irrational rage out of his voice. “I thought we could share it.”

“I know.” Lister sounded contrite and about six years old. “I really am sorry, man.”

“I know you didn’t mean to ruin it. I just - I’m still angry.” Rimmer took a deep breath. “You said we’re supposed to be honest about our feelings, so here it is. I feel angry. I might sulk for awhile.”

“I…understand.” Lister seemed slightly sceptical. “Erm, how long is ‘awhile’?”

“I don’t know! I just need to be alone. Okay?”

“Okay.”

  


Rimmer had been sulking for all of three minutes (by the microwave clock) when Lister crept back into the kitchen.

“What?”

“Thought I’d try this.” Lister dipped his finger into the curried icing, looked at it thoughtfully for a second, and licked it off. Rimmer’s mouth fell open. “That’s disgusting.”

“It’s nice, actually. Same idea as adding cinnamon to sweet stuff, innit?” Lister made quick work of a few more globs, then held out his finger. “You try.”

“No, thanks.”

“Come on…where’s your sense of adventure?” At the last word, Rimmer flushed a deep pink. Just the previous night, Lister had talked him into sex in the cockpit, proclaiming it to be an _adventure_.

“Oh, _fine_.” Rimmer didn’t particularly feel like being sexy, but he couldn’t help drawing out the process a little as he licked Lister’s finger clean. Then the taste caught up with him. “Eurgh!”

“No?” Rimmer made a face. “Hm. Funny that. I quite liked it.” Suddenly, Lister had both hands clamped on his face, giving him hot, sucking kisses that felt almost like bites.

“You taste like…that stuff!” Rimmer complained, even as Lister took his breath away.

“Mm.” More kisses. _He’s not even listening. Bastard._ Rimmer gave up and concentrated on sensation, on the fact that the man he loved was so eagerly kissing him, expressing…something. He usually tried not to dwell on whether and how much Lister felt for him; if it was never going to turn into something deeper, he didn’t really want to know.

The kisses stopped. “Arnie?”

Rimmer snapped out of his reverie. Lister’s eyes were boring into him, his face as serious as Rimmer had ever seen it.

“Yes, Dave?” He tried for a light tone.

“I love you.”

Rimmer opened and closed his mouth a few times. What was wrong with him? “I, erm,” his voice cracked. _Smeg_. He looked down; the intensity of Lister’s gaze was getting to him. “You know how I feel about you, Listy,” he managed, feeling pathetic. “I told you that night.”

“I know.” Was it just him, or had Lister’s voice quavered a little? ”And now I’m saying…I love you. Too, that is.”

It was too much for Rimmer. He fell into Lister’s waiting arms, cursing his cowardice as always.

  


They held each other for what seemed like hours, leaning against the counter in that tiny galley.

“It’s okay if we fight sometimes, you know,” Lister murmured at one point. “I never expected you to be a _totally_ different person because we’re together. Just in…in certain areas.” His hand wandered downward as if to emphasise his point.

Rimmer pushed it away. “Wash your hands first. And you should probably wash your mouth out as well.” Lister raised his eyebrows. “If…if I’m not mistaken,” he backpedalled hastily, and was rewarded with a broad grin and a “So should you.”

“Who said I was doing anything?” he retorted.

Lister actually looked offended. “If that’s how you feel, _Arnold_ , I might have to reconsider.” Before Rimmer could protest, he was pulled back into a tight embrace. “The sex, I mean. I still love you. Smeghead.”

Rimmer closed his eyes and counted. It was now or never. _One…two…three…_ he jumped off the cliff. “I love you, David.”


End file.
